


sea shanties

by deniigiq



Series: Lighter Fluid Verse [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Emotional Baggage, Found Family, Gen, God so much posturing, Team Bonding, Team Red, Team as Family, Wade does weekly check ins of all his people, he's got trauma, masculine posturing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24043300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: The Ox squinted at Wade.“Who’re you?” he asked.Wade had half a mind to be an asshole but caught himself. He got the feeling that he was standing in the presence of Grandpa. He had an impression to make.“The name’s Wade Wil—”“Ah. Deadpool,” Grandpa translated immediately. “Ya talk like an asshole. Get outta here, Canadian.”(Wade meets Matt's Gym Family. They make an impression on each other.)
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Fogwell's Gym, Matt Murdock & Wade Wilson
Series: Lighter Fluid Verse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523357
Comments: 36
Kudos: 736





	sea shanties

At some point, it occurred to Wade that he hadn’t spoken to Red in about an age and so he got up and sought to fix that immediately.

Getting thrown out a window was not a problem in Wade’s world. He’d already discussed this with the cat and she was on board to receive his insurance payout in the unlikely event that falling from a window caused Wade’s permanent death.

Red wasn’t at home, which meant he was with Nelson.

Wade course-corrected and headed a few blocks down.

Red wasn’t with Nelson, which meant he was with Page.

Wade course-corrected the other direction and went down about ten blocks.

Red wasn’t with Page, which meant he was with Jones.

Jones told Wade to knock on her door again upon pain of death. She was alone. She told him that Red was probably off with his Grandpa or something.

This was new news indeed.

Wade had heard of Red’s father and nun-mom. He hadn’t heard of the grandfather. Which grandfather was it? The nun-mom’s father? Or the boxer-dad’s father?

He felt like Red would have mentioned a grandfather at that point. He’d been pretty conflicted about the whole mom thing. Surely he would have been equally miserable about a new grandfather.

Actually.

How old was Red?

Shouldn’t Grandpappy be killing the brakes soon?

Hm. Maybe this was problematic.

Jones told him to stop ruminating in front of her business, he was scaring away the girls.

Peter wasn’t interested in being helpful that afternoon. He just wanted to eat fries, which was more than understandable, but Wade needed him and his little buddies here to focus.

He was on the hunt for Red and his dying grandfather. Red had plenty of trauma. The last thing Red needed was more family and more family death.

Peter tried to dip a fried cheese curd in his shake. Wade caught his hand and put it back where it belonged.

There had to be boundaries. Cheese and vanilla did not and would never mix and this boy didn’t deserve to learn that the hard way.

The little shit waited until he looked away and plunged the fried cheese into his cup. His buddies giggled. Wade felt suddenly and immeasurably tired.

“Know that you have been useless to me,” he told them, standing up from the table.

They waved.

Red’s friends were unhelpful. His boyfriend was unhelpful. His ally of miniature stature was unhelpful.

This meant only one thing:

Straight to the mom.

Wade had interacted with the nun-lady a good two times now, so he was pleased to say that they were basically friends.

Nun-lady did not seem to agree, but it was hard to tell if that was her friendly face or not.

“Matthew’s not here,” she said when Wade asked her.

Wade took a minute to gather himself and very smoothly asked how her father was doing.

She stared.

“Rotting, hopefully,” she said.

Whoops. Okay, well. That made things easier.

“And your dad-in-law?” Wade tried. “He’s doing well, too?”

Nun-mom’s eyebrow arched.

“The one who died when Jack was 15?” she asked.

Oh.

Well.

Hm.

 _Not_ that one?

Nun-mom continued to stare at him somewhat angrily. Wade decided that this was her amused expression.

“Jessica Jones said Redthew’s with his grandpop,” he admitted. “I am trying to locate Grandpop.”

Nun-mom blinked slowly.

“Why?” she drawled.

Hm.

“Vigilante crimes?” Wade tried.

Nun-mom shifted her weight back and crossed her arms. She pursed her lips. Wade’s palms felt kinda sweaty.

He totally got why Red didn’t like to spend too much time with this lady now. She was far too strong. Red had inherited but a modicum of her power and being in its full presence made him feel small and inadequate.

“I…missed him?” Wade tried again, this time like chewing on glass. “I wanted to make sure he was okay?”

Nun-mom lifted both eyebrows and cocked her head in a very familiar kind of way.

“If that’s the case,” she said lightly, “Then he’s probably with Jack’s old boxing coach.”

His what?

“And his old buddies,” Nun-mom said. “Leave him be, though. It’s good for him. Lord knows that boy needs good male role models.”

Excuse him?

“I _am_ a strong male role model,” Wade pointed out.

Nun-mom chuffed a little laugh.

“I said ‘good,’” she said. “Not ‘strong.’”

Redthew’s gym was the kind of place that Wade remembered from watching tv back in his youth. Back then, American shit had been _so cool_. And anything that looked like old-school New York had been the coolest of all. Movie shit, you know? Glamorous and old and dusty-looking.

The home of gangsters and rats the size of your head.

Baby Wade would have loved this place. Now, Wade just wondered why no one had taken a power washer to the gym’s sign to make it look a little less like a meth-addict’s teeth.

He pushed open the door with the expectation that the inside of the place would smell like old sweat and cigarette smoke, but, to his surprise, it just smelt like gym. Loads of disinfectant. Some sweat.

The smell wasn’t the most noticeable thing about the place, really. No, that was the cacophony of sound. People shouting and jeering and slapping and laughing.

This house was bumpin’, man. Wow, in the middle of a Saturday no less.

“Can I help you?”

Wade turned and saw a friendly-looking young man smiling at him from behind a window cut out from a wall. He seemed to be manning reception in that T-shirt. There were similar t-shirts and other hats and stuff with ‘Fogwell’s Gym’ written on them in blocky text on the wall behind this guy. Wade could have sworn that he’d seen Red with an iteration of one of those gym bags, except his was so old and faded that it barely had words on its ends anymore.

“Yeah, actually,” Wade said. “I’m here lookin’ for a buddy of mine. ‘Bout yay big, dark hair, John Lennon glasses?”

The receptionist blinked and then lit up in recognition.

“Oh, Matt,” he said.

Yeah, Matt. Who the fuck else matched that description?

“You’re a friend of his?” the reception clarified.

Well, Wade was _trying_ to be. Not that the kid made it easy.

“Ah, here come with me then, I’m sure he’s around. Saw him come in a while ago,” the receptionist said. He grabbed the keys in the drawer next to him and came out of the Staff Only door. He locked it behind him and Wade marveled at this.

The window was plenty big enough to just hop right over the attached desk and rob the place.

Civilians were _amazing_.

The receptionist took Wade into the main room which was lined with punching bags and littered with weights. The floor was covered in gym mats and two of the four walls were full mirrors. This was not the room producing the noise. This room was pretty much abandoned except for one old guy doing slow stretches and shaking his head sorrowfully at the commotion going on upstairs.

“Hey Robbie?” the receptionist asked. “Have you seen Matt? His friend here’s looking for him.”

Robbie looked up and dropped his weight.

Wade was so pleased to be recognized. He smiled. Robbie grimaced.

“He ain’t here,” he said stiffly. “Sorry, man, you’ll have to come back at another time.”

The receptionist didn’t get it.

“What?” he said. “No, I saw him come in earlier. I’m sure of it.”

Robbie didn’t drop Wade’s eyes. He was a big fucker, that was for sure. Not as big as he probably had been at one point. He seemed retired to Wade, with a good layer of fat over his gut muscles. Getting him on his back would be a challenge if it came to it—a challenge, but not too much of one.

Wade played dirty.

It made everything far easier.

Wade smiled a little more broadly.

“Boy ain’t here,” Robbie maintained. “Go look elsewhere.”

Aw.

Red. Look at these people trying to protect you.

“His mama told me he was probably off this way,” Wade said.

Robbie’s whole face did something real complicated and he squared up.

“You need to leave,” he said.

Oh, did he now?

“Wade?”

Ah.

Wade turned around and was presented, to his surprise, with a sweaty, flushed Red thrown over a giant man’s shoulder like a toddler. He seemed to have stopped mid-struggle.

“Wade? Is that you?” Red asked, pushing lightly against the huge guy’s shoulder.

Wade flicked his eyes between Red and the big man.

Now _that_ fucker was Big.

Old. White. In bad need of a dermatologist to inspect all that skin damage on his face. But generally built like an ox.

Now he might be more of a challenge. Wade didn’t like hitting seniors. Even senior oxs.

“Who’s this?” the Ox rumbled.

Red seemed to remember where he was and what he was doing and set to work struggling against the Ox’s hold.

“Put me down,” he demanded.

The Ox squinted at Wade.

“Who’re you?” he asked.

Wade had half a mind to be an asshole but caught himself. He got the feeling that he was standing in the presence of Grandpa. He had an impression to make.

“The name’s Wade Wil—”

“Ah. Deadpool,” Grandpa translated immediately. “Ya talk like an asshole. Get outta here, Canadian.”

Wade blinked himself back from what felt like a freeze-frame.

He’d never been picked out as a Canadian by some random old man before. Was he transforming? Did he have a flag on him? Where was the flag? He tried not to buy anything with a flag on it.

Wait.

Did he? Have an accent still?

He didn’t. No. He couldn’t. Ha. No. He’d never had much of one to begin with.

Ha.

Ha.

 _Right_?

Red got a hand against the Ox’s face and pushed.

“That’s _rude_ ,” he said. “Wade’s my client and he’s saved me from all kinds of stupid. Put me down.”

“Why’re you talkin’ like that, boy?” the Ox demanded of Red instead of actually dropping him. “I’ll have none of that in this gym.”

Red went still and squinted hard at the Ox’s ear.

“Friend,” he said.

“I ain’t like him. Jake, see ‘im out,” the Ox said.

“ _Down_ ,” Red barked.

The Ox tipped his head the other way at the sound and a bustle of snickering muscle-heads suddenly started gathering at the base of the stairs. The joking died off.

Wade realized that he was being stared at.

He waved.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted. “Just here to check on a friend.”

He didn’t have a weapon on him, but there were loads of weights hanging around on the floor of this part of the gym.

“ _Fogwell_ ,” Red said, struggling again. “Stop bein’ an ass, he’s my _friend_.”

Ah.

Oh.

Why, _hello_ there, Grandpa.

Grandpa Fogwell finally dropped Red. He landed more or less gracefully and popped up, ruffled and resettling his glasses on his face.

“Is everything okay, Wade?” he asked.

Wade glanced between him and the group of huge fuckers who had formed a line at the bottom of the stairwell. Some of them seemed to have pushed their way to the front.

None of them were small.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Wade said carefully. “You just ain’t answered my texts, and you know how that makes me feel.”

Red lit up.

“Oh, I broke my phone,” he said. “Finally cracked. Been having trouble with it all week. I’m getting a new one tomorrow, sorry about that.”

Ah.

Totally reasonable. Totally normal.

Good.

“Thanks for coming to check on me,” Red said lightly. “I guess you haven’t met anyone here. Here, let me introduce ‘em—”

No, no. That was unnecessary. Wade could see from a mile away that every one of those guys in the front line’s name was ‘uncle’ and the Ox’s name was ‘grandpa’ and that was all he really needed to know.

“This is Fogwell,” Red said, feeling for and wrapping almost all of his hand around the Ox’s wrist. “He was my dad’s coach. Him and these other guys kept us on the straight and narrow. I’ve known him forever. The bald guy somewhere over there is Rudy, my old man’s sparring partner. Bert, I can’t remember you without the mustache, sorry. I think he’s the tallest? Kenny’s blonde. Robbie’s got the goatee. And, uh, I don’t remember who else is here right now, sorry.”

Wade lifted an eyebrow at the retired heavyweights. Then he lifted one at Fogwell.

They didn’t seem to blink. Hivemind of blockheads and all that.

“Huh,” Wade said. “No family resemblance, pal, sorry to say.”

Red grinned at him.

“It happens,” he joked.

This seemed to ease some of the tension in the room.

“Have you ever boxed before, Wade?” Red asked.

The tension was immediately replaced by rapt interest and Wade felt like a rat in the center of a ring of Jack Russell terriers.

Had he boxed?

Uhhhhhhhhhh. Well. He’d fought. In a ring, even. Many, many a time. But boxed? Specifically? No, not really. Boxers had been his father’s idea of ‘real men’ and so Wade had done some pretty solid work learning every other style of self defense that he could.

But did he know _how_ to box?

More or less.

Red stepped forward with a hand out, asking for Wade’s wrist. His hands were taped to hell. The tape looked like it had seen better days.

Wade looked up at the old man and suddenly understood what the commotion had been about.

L’il middle-weight Red must have challenged the oldest of the guard upstairs, like a kitten trying to get the biggest tomcat in the alley’s attention.

He’d gotten his ass handed to him and must have been swept up off the floor and carried downstairs as a reminder that he was but a whelp to the Ox.

He didn’t seem to have taken it too much to heart, which told Wade that this was more of a weekly or monthly ritual than a one-off kind of thing.

He looked at the hand held his way and then up into Red’s face.

“I dunno about that,” he said. “Not really my thing, you know.”

Red’s eyebrows fell and he lowered his face and chewed a lip.

“No, that’s fair,” he said.

Sad face.

Puppy face.

Resist, Wilson. You’re stronger than that.

“As long as you’re good, then I’ll head back,” Wade said. “I’ll leave you to the YMCA here.”

The bald guy in the back there smirked and spread a hand over his face to cover it. Wade paused halfway through turning around.

“You got something on your mind, friend?” he asked.

The bald guy schooled his face and shook his head.

Wade scowled.

He almost made it all the way around this time before someone went ‘dude, Deadpool’s kinda _small_.’

He'd forgotten that he was still capable of such rage burning through him at a civilian comment. It had been a minute since he’d been around a lot of them.

He rolled his shoulders.

He didn’t have to take shit from these people. They had no idea what he was capable of. It was the kind thing to do to just walk it off.

“Be nice,” Red snapped behind him. “He’s saved my ass and my business plenty of times.”

“I mean, that’s fine,” the guy said. “But like, all the pictures in the news and shit make him look big. I’m just sayin’. Lookin’ lean there, Mr. Pool. Maybe you need a shake or two.”

L— _lean_?

What?

No.

Wade was a brick shithouse. The only shithouse brickier than him was Nathan and Nate had the benefit of being part cyborg. He was half machine. That was it. That was the only difference between them.

“Actually, now that you mention it, I did see a pic of him standin’ next to the big metal bastard, the Russian one? Probably truer to size there,” a new voice with a fat, dripping accent said.

“Boys,” the Ox said. “Settle.”

Wade felt his face twitch.

He didn’t need some Ox-man to come to his defense. These were just a fuckload of normals Red wasted his time lollygaggin’ around with. That was all they were.

“Sure thing, Boss,” the bald man said.

“Yeah, we’re just lookin’ out for Matty,” the tallest guy said.

“I don’t need lookin’ out for,” Red huffed. “Lay off. Stop bein’ weird. Don’t listen to ‘em, Wade, they don’t mean it, they’re just talkin’ big. I’ll see you around soon.”

He wouldn’t, but Wade didn’t need to tell him that.

He was feeling a something-something his chest that he didn’t super love.

He left the gym still feeling off-kilter and mad about it.

He wasn’t quite sure why. He’d had plenty of people talk shit about him behind his back and to his face over the years. More than he could count, honestly.

They said the same things, generally.

‘You look gay.’ ‘Fucking asshole.’ ‘Drop dead.’ ‘Go kill yourself.’ ‘Get fucked.’

You know, people’s favorite insults. Wade collected them like a nineteenth-century butterfly enthusiast. And they never really bothered him because they never came from people he actually cared about.

He didn’t actually care about the line of beefcakes at Red’s gym. But he thought that it was maybe the suggestion that he was somehow not good enough to protect little old Red that really rankled.

Yeah, he knew he played dirty. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t protect his people.

He made sure of that these days. Fool him once, shame on him, and all that jazz.

No one was breaking through his guard a second time.

There would be no second Vanessa if it killed him. If he had to die a thousand times.

There would be no second fooling.

He let himself huff and puff and be agitated about the whole thing for another day or so before Nate came in and found him for a job and asked him why he was being stupid on the floor instead of the couch.

Nate then told him that he was being a fucking idiot for letting the comments of a couple guys too stupid to read a map get to him.

And like, he was right.

What Wade didn’t have in muscle, he made up for in trauma and intellect.

He let himself be dragged up off the floor and dumped into the tub with the showerhead running.

Red fell out of contact again the next month, but he had a working phone this time which tasted of trouble to Wade. He stared at the unread text from three days ago on his own phone screen and then dropped his arm off the couch and sighed.

Bella came over and climbed up onto his belly to knead at his flesh.

He scratched her behind the ears absently.

“Why me, girl?” he asked her.

She had no answers for him but told him to get his fucking shoes on anyways.

Red was not with Nelson. Red was not with Page. Red was not with Jones. Castle hadn’t seen him. Rand said that he’d not been looking so hot the last they’d spoken. Cage crossed his arms and shook his head and said that he’d had the shit kicked out of him on the street again and he was furious about it and working himself to the bone.

That sucked.

Man, that sucked.

It explained why Nelson and Page were frustrated though.

Sure, they could press assault charges, but it didn’t change the fact that their buddy had been forced to lie there and take that shit for the whole world to see.

Man, talk about a Humbling.

Red was probably burning up inside over it. Taking his aggression out on a bag to remind himself that he wasn’t a victim. He wasn’t like the people he saved. He was something different. Something more.

He was still something more.

Wade had decided that he hated this fuckin’ gym and all the rats that lived inside it, but for whatever reason, when he stepped in this time, he felt a weird energy in the place. The receptionist seemed hopeful to see him and said he could go through into the gym proper without an escort.

He had barely to set foot in the next room when he saw all them big guys making nervous eye contact with each other. They all looked back at Wade as he closed the door behind him.

He kept his posture lazy and took stock of the room to find the agent of awkwardness in question.

He watched Red beat the tar out of the bag in front of him, so angry he missed it occasionally and fell into it with his own momentum.

Red seemed to be the only thing in steady motion in the whole downstairs gym and he didn’t seem to care all that much.

Wade hummed and moseyed his way over, fully aware of all the eyes that followed him. He stood behind Red, observing the bouncing and jabbing and took his time waiting for an opening. Red pulled back and Wade jerked his hands forward and caught his wrists before he lunged again. Red startled back into his chest.

“What’s up, stranger?” Wade asked.

Red struggled in his grip.

“Let me go,” he said. “Fuck off. I’m doing things.”

“I see that,” Wade hummed. “Beatin’ ‘that thing ain’t gonna make you feel better, though.”

He felt the tension in Red’s arms sag for a second before he launched himself back into Spiteland.

“You don’t know that; get the fuck off,” Red snarled at him.

Mmm. Wade did though.

“Hey, settle down,” Wade ordered at half voice.

Red reacted as he always did to the tone.

He went still immediately.

Man, them child-soldier instincts were really something. The guy heard what he thought was a lick of anger his way and he made himself small and compliant without even thinking about it.

Kind of a bummer.

Also kind of useful.

Wade felt a little bad thinking about it that way.

“Your people are worryin’ about you,” he said, quieter now. “They’re all watchin’ you right now. Don’t hurt yourself in front of your people, man. Come on, I got better ways to get that shit out.”

Red stayed still as he sensed around the room at the bodies turned his way. He seemed to finally realize how quiet the place was.

He sighed and dropped his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said. “Lemme get my bag.”

“Everyone thinks I’m glass,” Red said furiously, throwing handfuls of seed out at the ducks in front of them. The ducks were into it.

Wade watched him and then went back to lining up big, fat sunflower seeds on the bench’s arm to entice the squirrel watching him in the tree to take its chances.

“I’m not glass. I’ve never been glass. I’m tired of having to pretend to be glass,” Red carried on viciously.

“Man, if they’ve all known you since you were born, then you’re always gonna be a baby to them,” Wade told him. “That ain’t anyone’s fault, that’s just how bein’ a kid around adults works.”

“It’s not just them,” Red huffed, having finally run out of seed. He brought his feet up onto the bench and wrapped his arms around his knees. He dropped his chin on them and glared at nothing in front of him.

“What do you want Nelson and Page to do, man?” Wade asked. “We ain’t taught ‘my blind friend had to let himself get the stuffin’ beat out of him in the street’ etiquette.”

Red frowned, then huffed and sunk deeper into his knees.

“I’m not mad at them,” he said. “I’m mad at society.”

“Because people tried to help you?” Wade asked.

“They shouldn’t have had to,” Red said. “I should have just been able to punch the fucker’s lights out on my own and go on with my day.”

Mm.

Well. There would never be a point in time where people would feel cool with leaving a disabled guy to fight off a raging bigot in the street, Wade personally thought. That just wasn’t going to happen—and it _shouldn’t_ happen, honestly.

This was a pretty Red-specific kind of dilemma they had on their hands here.

But that wasn’t what Red needed to hear at that point in time.

Wade stood up and brushed off all the seeds that had collected in the wrinkles of his clothes. He held out a hand to Red.

“Wanna go beat the shit out of a crime lord stockpiling alien weaponry in an abandoned subway station? He’s got about 40 friends guarding the place.”

Red blinked past the hand. Then huffed and unfolded himself.

“I want the 40,” he said, reaching out and finding Wade’s palm. “You can have the main guy.”

Atta boy. 

Wade pulled him up.

Red was much happier when he’d gotten to pound some actual heads in. Wade let him run wild on the way home. He even let the guy call the police and a couple ambulances.

Wade watched him weave around him as they made their way back up to the surface and listened as he nattered away about the potential links between this guy and some folks he knew of in Hell’s Kitchen.

He decided that Red was probably 80% recovered from his ordeal.

Red paused suddenly next to him and ducked under his arm in a demand for attention. Wade gave it to him but kept on walking.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m sorry my people put you on the spot,” Red said out of nowhere. “That wasn’t cool of them.”

Ah.

“It’s fine,” Wade said. “They just wanted to make sure I knew who you belonged to.”

Red considered this.

“Fogwell tried to adopt me,” he finally chose to reveal after a moment.

Wade almost stopped walking.

“He what?” he asked.

Red hummed.

“When I was young and stupid and hurtin’, he saw what was happening and tried to step in,” he said. “It didn’t work out, but he really tried and no one asked him to, so I owe him for that, you know?”

Oh. Grandpa. Wade got it now.

“So you let him rag on you,” Wade translated.

“He found my dad when he was hurtin’ and scared, too,” Red said. “He brought him in and taught him how to box and then he used to let Dad keep me there with him when he couldn’t find a sitter, which was always. So I’ll do anything Fogwell needs me to and I’ll be whatever he wants me to be. He’s done more for us than anyone else ever has.”

…right.

“Red, you ain’t disappointing your fightin’ grandpa because you got the shit kicked out of you in the street,” he said.

Red shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it does worry him and he starts tellin’ me he doesn’t want me out at night and he doesn’t want me at the gym by myself, and that sucks ‘cause I don’t have a whole lot of other places to go, you know? It’s kinda selfish, yeah, but I also just don’t want him to feel like he’s gotta protect me still. He’s done enough. He’s in his late sixties. He’s gettin’ old and I don’t want his heart giving out or anything before he’s ready to go.”

Well, that was fair.

“Does he know about DD?” Wade asked.

Red turned away.

“Can he know?” Wade asked.

“No,” Red said.

“It might make him feel safer, Red, if he knew,” Wade pointed out. “I mean, sure, he’d be worried about you gettin’ your head bashed in, but if he knew that you’re more dangerous than 85% of the shit out there at night, then he might be able to sleep better knowin’ you can handle yourself.”

Red was quiet for a while.

“If he knew, he’d treat me different,” he said.

Yeah, that was fair, too.

“You got hella family for bein’ an orphan,” Wade redirected.

Red perked up and turned back towards him.

“That’s what Rudy says,” he said.

Uh-huh.

“His daughters are like my sisters,” Red said. “They bully the fuck outta me.”

Wade snorted.

“Used to do your hair?” he asked. “Your make-up?”

“Only Tina,” Red hummed. “Angie and Penelope don’t do make-up. We used to play Legos and I’d go to their dance recitals.”

Aw.

“When I was real little, my dad tried to teach me to call that tall guy back there ‘big Bert’ but I couldn’t say it, so I went with ‘big bird,’” Red said, grinning at the memory. “So I called him ‘Uncle Big Bird,’ and now everyone at the gym calls him ‘Big Bird.’”

Awww, Red. Tugging at the heartstrings there, buddy.

“And I called Fogwell ‘Grandpa’ until I was seven and he cried the time I told him I was too big to be carried around anymore, so I got a new rule where no one could carry me but Grandpa and dad.”

Fuck.

Stop, kid. Wade wasn’t here for happy families.

Red beamed at him. Wade huffed.

“You let me haul you around,” he pointed out.

Red shrugged.

“Mostly for the drama,” he said, “But at this point, you’re kinda like they are, I guess.”

This time, Wade did stop.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said.

Red glared over his shoulder.

“We ain’t had this conversation,” he said.

Ah. Right, right.

Wade hopped back over to him, trying not to be giddy.

“The kid’s been trying to eat ice cream and cheese together again,” he tattled.

Red made a noise of disgust.

“That shit needs to be nipped in the bud,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> just for the record: fried potatoes and fried cheese absolutely goes into ice cream. I don't make the rules.


End file.
